


Two Telepaths in Bed

by Raibean



Category: Star Trek, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Betazoid!Scott, Half-Klingon!Allison, Half-Vulcan!Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raibean/pseuds/Raibean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles' first time mind-melding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Telepaths in Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Star Trek AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/61758) by muffin-button. 



> This was part of the Sciles Reverse Bang (2014) challenge on tumblr. You can find the adorable art that inspired it by muffin-button here: http://muffin-button.tumblr.com/post/91882187225/star-trek-au-for-the-sciles-reversebang-ill-link

Scott knew that Stiles had mind-melded with other crewmen before – Captain Allison Argent, Lieutenant Commander Lydia Martin – and always under dire circumstances. The first time Scott melded with Stiles, he could feel the echoes of their minds, like small depressions in a wall. Like everything Stiles did, he did so tentatively, and with full force, like a child that toes the water to check its temperature, then jumps in head first. Scott kissed him first – human style, lips on lips. Then the way Vulcans did it, Stiles reaching for Scott’s hand and touching their fingers together. Scott was a Betazoid and knew Vulcans were very private with their feelings. He had tried to avoid using his empathic and telepathic abilities on Stiles before he realized there was no need. Unlike most Vulcans, Stiles rebelled against the ideals of emotional control and concealment. Scott still respected Stiles’ privacy. Stiles almost never had the chance to do the same for Scott, since Vulcans’ telepathy was largely reliant on physical contact. (Vulcans could form individual bonds with others to work telepathy without touch, and while this was very common between Vulcans, their culture of secrecy limited the number of interspecies bonds.)

Being in each other’s minds was almost overwhelming. Scott could feel Stiles feeling his thoughts; it was like looking in a funhouse mirror. Scott had done this before, with other Betazoids; he knew how to avoid getting stuck in a room made of mirrors. Stiles didn’t seem to.

 _You can’t just rummage through my mind and stare at yourself_ , Scott told him softly. _You’ll get lost preening._

_Oh, I’m worth preening over._

Scott held back from Stiles thoughts for a second and kissed Stiles – really kissed him, sucking on his lip then slipping the tip of his tongue into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles grabbed Scott’s ass, pulling him closer.

_I don’t have much training in telepathy, Stiles admitted. Being raised on Earth and all, there’s not a lot of training available. There aren’t enough telepaths for the Academy to offer a course._

_Don’t worry_ , Scott sent, making sure to soften his thought’s arrival, _I can make sure you don’t get lost._

Scott pulled back and pushed Stiles down onto the couch. He straddled him.

“I could get used to this view,” Stiles said.

“Good.” Scott picked up Stiles’ hand.

“Oh god. You’re a doctor. You know about the hands thing.”

“I know about the hands thing,” Scott confirmed. He dragged the tip of his tongue across Stiles’ palm. Stiles shuddered beneath his legs, and Scott sucked on Stiles’ forefinger.

“I hate having to explain about Vulcan hands,” Stiles babbled. “You get a bunch of weird questions, and most humans are so uncomfortable with it; they don’t understand how active touch creates reciprocation let alone the effects of touch telepathy –”

 _Many non-telepathic species don’t understand how giving creates reciprocation for us_ , Scott told him. _Betazoids don’t really have a separation between giving and receiving, because to please your partner is to experience that pleasure yourself._

“With Vulcans, you have to always know your place. Constant self-awareness. Everyone should fit together like cogs in a watch. You move exactly as much as you need to; there’s constant stillness, and I never learned self-control the way I should have. I’m always spilling over like there’s too much of me for this body.”

Scott leaned down to kiss Stiles. “You like to talk.”

Stiles nodded. “You should see me once I get going. I just don’t shut up.” He reached to unzip Scott’s pants. He slipped his thumb over the head of Scott’s dick. “You know, not a lot of humans see me as Vulcan. They sort of gloss over my biology until they see me get to work.” He put pressure through his palm and pushed his hand down before pulling it back up. “Until they see it, they don’t realize just how singular I am when it comes to research. I overthink  things. What can I say? I like to come prepared.” Scott let out a small whine, egging Stiles on. “And really, Vulcans have great research to look at, just impeccable, really, but we're so Victorian when it comes to emotions or sex. They’re factual about it, that’s for sure, and they’re not embarrassed, really, but they don’t have the passion or attention to detail that humans do when it comes down to it.” Stiles reached up to Scott’s chest and tentatively swiped his nipple, testing how sensitive it was. It puckered up and Stiles tugged on it. “With Vulcans, it’s just pon-farr pon-farr pon-farr. And honestly, that’s more about telepathy than anything else. Something in our biology connects telepathy to reproduction so strongly that a telepathic bond tricks our bodies into thinking we’re about to fuck. In most cases, yeah, we do. But it’s not actually a requirement. Murder can also do the trick. Did you know that? Best-kept secret on Vulcan – murder is like sexual release to us.” Scott moaned. It was encouraging. “There’s a whole ritual. Your intended mate rejects you and appoints a champion. You pick a weapon, but the weapons don’t matter, really, because you’re both Vulcan and you end up knocking them out of each other’s hands. And then you beat each other to death. There aren’t even any rocks to use.”

“Stiles,” Scott puffed.

“You end up getting covered in dirt and blood. And then you’re ashamed for murdering someone with your bare hands, but Vulcans don’t judge you for that. What happens under pon-farr should not be talked about and is generally kept under wraps and all that. It’s like the opposite of getting married in Vegas.”

“Stiles, I don’t think I can come when you keep talking about murder.”

“Is that a challenge?” Stiles smirked. “I’ve talked about way grosser stuff, believe me.”

“Oh god,” Scott groaned. He was making promises his body couldn’t pay for; his arousal was not waning. “Stiles, I would love to suck your dick, but if you keep talking about murder while we’re fucking, then I’m not going to do it.”

“I have absolutely no self-control when it comes to what comes out of my mouth.”

“Okay, that’s a little hot.”

“Or gross, depending.” Stiles looked down. “Oh, so murder’s okay, but bodily fluids are not?”

“It’s not exactly conducive to the mood.”

Stiles squeezed his nipple. “Aaand we’re back.”

“I have a weakness for cute nerds touching my nipples,” Scott admitted.

Stiles kissed him and went back to work. More pressure on the palm, a bit more play with his fingers. Countdown from 30. “I wanna ride you so hard, Scott.” Almost there. “Scott, I’m going to ride you until my ass is fucking _broken_ and you have to piece me together in the medical bay with nothing but your tongue and some med tape.”

“I’m gonna –”

“Yeah, you are.”

Stiles didn’t mind the mess. He licked his palm clean, offering two fingers to Scott. Scott hesitated.

“Haven’t you tasted your own come before?” Stiles leaned in. “Don’t worry, you’re _delicious_.” Scott sucked on his fingers, and damn, it felt good. Scott slid his tongue between them, and Stiles’ breath scraped at his teeth. It was almost overstimulating.

“Fuck,” Stiles all but breathed. “If this is what you’re gonna do to my dick then I’m going to head straight to Captain Argent’s quarters and request leave for a week to do nothing but stay naked in your bedroom.”

Scott pulled Stiles’ hand away. “I thought Vulcans didn’t use hyperbole.”

“That’s not an idle threat,” Stiles explained while Scott unzipped his pants. “I am completely committed to the idea of being naked in your bed for a week.”

“I’m not going to bring you food three times a day.”

“Don’t you have a replicator in here?”

“I hate replicator food,” Scott explained.

“Replicator’s the only way to get a lot of Vulcan foods. You ever eat sash-savas berries? They’re too acidic for most species, especially the ones on this ship.”

Scott tugged Stiles’ pants down below his knees.

“You and the nutritionists have to keep track of everyone’s allergies and their basic species thresholds for senses.”

“It’s a little hectic at times,” Scott admitted. “Hey, this is about to become a very one-sided conversation, but I have a feeling you won’t mind.”

“Bottoms up,” Stiles said. “What’s weird is having to submit a form to your captain and your CMO for permission to date someone outside your species. Since I’m mixed I have to submit unless I’m dating another Vulcan-Human Hybrid. Though I think a few Romulan-Vulcan pairings have gotten by without submitting a form. And honestly, filling out a form to date your CMO is even weirder. I swear Allison was laughing with Lydia after I left the room. I bet you’ve gotten a lot of weird paperwork on that. ‘No, you can’t date her; her saliva is corrosive to your flesh!’ Did you get Lydia and Allison’s form when they started dating? When you move to a new ship, do you have to resubmit your paperwork? I can’t believe there’s protocol for this.”

Scott settled his knees around Stiles’ legs. His thumb rubbed below the head.

“Humans are so blase about interspecies relationships. At least by the academy. One time I made out with a girl, and I turned out to be allergic to a compound in her saliva. My tongue was swollen for nearly three days. I’m really glad that’s not going to happen with you.”

Scott teased Stiles’ head with his tongue, pumping Stiles’ shaft with his hand.

“Sex-related accidents are so embarrassing. Everyone makes jokes about you and suddenly every cute person in the vicinity knows you as _that guy_ before you even talk to them. Sex-related accidents do not exactly inspire fun times. Did you know my doctor put a note on my medical files? Not just ‘allergic to XYZ compound’ but full-on ‘recieves and causes sexually related injuries. I bet you've even seen it. The nurses laugh when they see it. And none of them are from doing really interesting things, either. Like, I didn’t get a concussion from a man in a leather suit holding a flogger; I got it from jumping onto the bed and hitting my head against the wall.  And then you have to explain to emergency services why you're naked with two black eyes and no, your partner is not abusing you, which kind of sucks to be asked that because if it isn't true, you're just embarrassed.”

Scott took the whole of Stiles into his mouth. Stiles put his hands on Scott’s side; his whole body felt like it was coiled up too tightly.

“A lot of medical protocol hasn’t caught up with the many social and biological norms of other species.” Stiles shuddered, fingers pressing into Scott. “There are at least three species that are part of the Federation who have physical pain as part of their mating ritual for biological reasons or as a social norm. And don’t get me started on how the medical field treats alien gender systems. Pronoun training is a mess.”

Scott was working up and down Stiles’ cock, hands and mouth providing different textures, different pressure. Stiles tilted his head back against the couch armrest.

“You know they have engineers working day and night back on Earth to make spaceships that can accommodate species who breathe different gases. I’ve told you I’m working on that, right? As a commission. The ventilation systems are awful. Oxygen is basically considered waste in the Kasterborous system. Then in Aserinous it’s up in the atmosphere but unbreathable. You’ve seen people from those systems, right? At the Academy they have to wear air tanks to breathe, and you have to know how horrible it is to their skin and exoskeletons.”

Scott practically swallowed Stiles, and Stiles couldn’t help it; he whined. He knew that if he pressed too hard, his fingers would bruise Scott’s sides, but he was lost. Scott reached down and used one finger to push into him.

“Oh, god. Oh, god, no one’s actually combined these two pleasures for me. Fuck. Jesus, Scott, do you even have a gag reflex? Who taught you how to do this? I need to offer them a Nobel Prize of Sex. I wish there was a panel for that. I bet there’s an actual Prize, though. Secret group of Swiss who travel around the world finding the best partners.”

Scott crooked his finger, and Stiles spasmed, muscles unable to tighten any more than they already had.

"Scott, please. I need to come, Scott,” Stiles whined.

Scott pulled his mouth to the head of Stiles’ cock and circled his tongue around it, one hand pumping the rest and the other hand curling and uncurling inside Stiles' ass.

"Gods, I just need this forever. Shit, Scott, please." Stiles let go of Scott's back and grabbed onto the couch. The orgasm stretched through him, and Scott swallowed like a champ. “Okay, now kiss me,” Stiles told him.

“You are the weirdest little goblin,” Scott said. He kissed him anyway, and it was all salt and telepathy, the aftermath of their orgasms racing through each other’s skin.

That was the first time they melded minds. There were no other Vulcans on board, so there was no one to be embarrassed when they touched fingers in the hallways as the other passed, or held hands on the way to the mess hall. Mind-melds, after all, were solely about emotion, and emotion was meant to be private.

“Do you ever want to try just telepathy?” Scott asked. “Like, no talking?”

“I’m not sure I can be completely silent,” Stiles said. He had a complicated salad in front of him. Scott was pretty sure he’d never heard of half the vegetables Stiles had piled onto his lettuce. “When I was a kid, I learned to use rants and babbling not just from my Vulcan mom, but also to help cover my emotions. You ever notice I don’t stay still the way most Vulcans do? They’re so contained. The over-talking, it tricks the humans – you know, they see the ears and the skin-tone and the talking just matches up with what they expect. It sort of covers up the rest.”

“Like the fact that you use colloquialisms and inexact speech,” Scott said.

Stiles nodded and finished another bite. “When my mom was dying – she was sick, you know – we went back to Vulcan. We hoped that returning to an ecosystem more natural to her biology would stop it. It didn’t, really. I mean, it took a few years until she died, but that’s normal for dementia. I was pretty young. I don’t know, maybe I thought acting more Vulcan would help her somehow? Nobody liked being around us. The planet itself was killing us, and I know Vulcans are supposed to be stoic and everything, but I could tell. They didn’t like our grief, they didn’t like Dad’s emotionalism. They didn’t like how human I acted. It was worse after she died because I started having panic attacks, and basically instead of therapy the Vulcans ship you off to a master to study with alone. Instead Dad took us back to Earth. He tried really hard to keep me up with my Vulcan heritage, and that meant placing this huge emphasis on it since I was already surrounded by Earth culture, right? And I just never lost this feeling that I wasn’t Vulcan _enough_. I was in all these classes with these Federation brats from all kinds of planets, so there wasn’t much in the way of bullying. When I was at the Academy, I got a translator’s certification for Vulcan, and Dad was so proud. And then pon farr happened, and I had to go back to Vulcan.”

“Wait, seriously?” Scott asked. “You’re not going to tell me you have a mate back on Vulcan, right? Because I think that’s something I should have seen in your head a few weeks back.”

Stiles laughed. “No. I sent my grandparents a message, and they found a someone willing to link with me when I got there. But usually – not always, but usually – it’s pretty permanent, right? And they got cold feet. Rejected me and picked a champion.”

Scott looked him up and down. “Did you kill the champion?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t even like – I just – it was horrible afterwards. My grandparents were all comforting about it, like, ‘Just accept this fact of your biology’ and ‘This is why we’re so self-disciplined, because emotions suck’ and it just shattered me. I mean, I’m okay now, but I basically lied about it to everyone and then I found out that Vulcans are so secretive about pon farr that it’s not even in Federation regulations, there’s no mentions or protections for Vulcans who do that during pon farr. There’s no protections for people who might try to force a psychic bond without consent on a Vulcan going through pon farr. There’s nothing. I feel like my culture claims to be unembarrassed, but they’re so uptight about this sex thing that they’re actively harming those of us out on the field.”

“That’s horrible. I didn’t even know about pon farr, and I’m a medical officer for the whole ship. I had to be rebriefed on Vulcan biology and psychology before I took this commission because you were part of the crew.  Not knowing something that affects you psychically and emotionally like that is dangerous.”

"I was completely out of control," Stiles told him. "At the beginning, I barely knew what was going on. I had to go to the Vulcan Embassy to find a book that could explain everything to me."

“Stiles, are you really okay with what happened over there?” Scott asked. He reached under the table for Stiles’ hand. Stiles put his other hand under the table to reassure him.

“It’s like I was taken over,” he said. “And for Vulcans, it’s just so expected. Honestly, I don't want to be mentally tethered to that person for all eternity, or even just for biology. I understand why they made that choice. But I also killed someone, and that is so much more permanent. I mean, the champion knew. She knew she could die if she accepted that role. And she did it anyway. Was it worth that much to her that her what, her lover, her friend not fight for themselves and die? If I regret it, am I disrespecting her choice and my culture? I can live with myself just fine. I can’t live with a species-instituted system that forces people to mate permanently or die.”

“Sometimes,” Scott started, “Betazoids get this sickness, Zanthi fever, which projects your emotions onto other people. How they act on your emotions depend on their own subconscious motivations, but it’s still your emotions. It’s so weird to me that Betazoids and Vulcans both have this amazing gift to share their inner voices with others, and we have such different reactions to those voices. Vulcans value control so much, so no one is privy to your emotions, but for Betazoids our ultimate virtue is understanding. Even to act against someone or to commit violence, that is not forbidden. But understanding is the key. We don't use this understanding to absolve someone of their actions or to blindly forgive them, but it is knowledge that we can use to direct our actions with compassion not only for others, but for ourselves."

"So those orgasms you're giving me, those are driven by compassion? Are you the Mother Teresa of orgasms here?"

"Yes, and I'm working with someone who's in need."

"Oh, very much in need, Doctor." Stiles smirked.

“Please don’t call me that.”

The smirk died. “Not a fetish?”

“It’s such a turn-off. I want my job and sex to say separate.”

“That is a let-down, but not as much of a let-down as if you tell me we can’t bring my job into the sex.”

“Well, if you want to roleplay the engineer that fixes my engine then I guess?” Scott shrugged. “I’m not going to fuck you in the ass while you’re working on blueprints or something.”

“Will you suck my dick while I do it?”

Scott didn’t look impressed with Stiles’ line of thought.

Stiles waited.

“Maybe.”

“Awesome.” Stiles smiled at him. “I’m looking forward to that.”

“I said maybe.”

“Yeah, but we’re holding hands and I can read your thoughts, so I know you wanna at least try it.”

“Don’t tell anyone about that. I know you have a little trouble with social barriers, but that is not pertinent information to anybody.”

Stiles’ smile was unbeatable. “You just like to listen to me talk.”

“It was a little weird at first, but it’s kind of hot when you break down because I’m just that good.”

“Too bad you have surgery in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes? Are you serious?” Scott checked his watch. “Shit, I have to go right now. Setting up the steri-field takes forever!” He scarfed down his burger. “I’ll see you at dinner, but I’ll have post-surge work to do afterwards.”

“Can I wait in your bedroom?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, we can cuddle. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle much else.”

Then there was a mission to a moon colony in the Tarsus system. The colonists were having trouble building their medical facility, so Stiles and his team were looking over the plans to make sure everything was in order and to acquisition supplies. Scott was looking through their medical files and testing the soil, food, air, and vegetation for contaminates. This was standard procedure on a colony mission; there were often not enough doctors sent to accommodate colonists, and the tests not only helped the Federation anticipate widespread illnesses, but it helped prevent corruption. There had been instances of doctors using their position to gain power in colonies, and finding doctors qualified and willing to go to a settlement was difficult. There was a tradition that decommissioned Federation doctors would spend 5 or 10 years in a young colony, but many also had families who weren’t necessarily suited to colony life.

Another medical problem colonists faced was disability. The old policy used to be that when a person was diagnosed with a disability, they and their family would be shipped to a higher-class planet with the tech to accommodate them. Now there was a shift in policy – build the colony to be inherently accommodating and send tech as-needed. There was still a policy against sending settlers to found a colony when they already had a disability, and Scott had heard there was a medical team and an engineering team working towards a solution that would convince the Federation that it wouldn’t cause undue stress on the disabled person. (There was also a coalition of disabled people who had been sent home from colonies who were lobbying to change the policy.)

Scott had assistive tech for three people, and he’d just finished testing and instructing the colony’s doctor on their use when the midshipmen came.

“Doctor McCall, one of our engineers is injured.”

“Get Doctor Yukimura and Nurse Boyd. Do not move anybody or anything unless something is obstructing their breathing or their heart has stopped.”

One midshipmen ran ahead, one went to get Kira and Vernon, and the third stayed to lead Scott to the injured.

It was Stiles. He had a head injury, and honestly it probably looked worse than it was. It still looked pretty bad. Vulcan green blood was smattered across his forehead, and a poorly placed box of supplies was emptied on the ground.

“Okay, head injury protocol,” Scott said. “Vulcans are pretty humanoid, so we likely have the medical supplies necessary down here and we don’t need to move him to the ship yet.” Scott touched Stiles’ wrist. That should have been enough to activate Stiles’ telepathy, but there was nothing. “He’s unconscious. Potential concussion.”

Scott knelt down to take Stiles’ pulse. He watched his watch, too disciplined to look back at Stiles. Some engineers started cleaning up the mess on the floor. Kira started examining Stiles’ headwound.

“Pulse is normal – or expected, at least. Let’s clean and bandage this.”

Kira looked to Scott. “I would definitely recommend an autosuture.”

“I’ll set up a steri-field,” Boyd said.

“If the wound’s that deep, we might not have time for that,” Scott told him. “Let’s do an old-fashioned sterilization, then autosuture.”

Hands first – always hands and equipment first. They poured hydrogen peroxide over the wound and used disposable sponges to wipe away the blood that had already spilled. They came away black, a reaction between the hydrogen peroxide and the copper that made Vulcan blood green.

Using the autosuture was second nature to Scott. His first medical job was in emergency services, and he was known for keeping calm even when everyone around him panicked. He thought that it was because Betazoids were so used to other people's emotions being just as loud and intrusive as panic. Now, he might have changed his mind. He'd gotten so many friends and crewmembers through worse than this, but this was Stiles. Stiles wasn't making funny jokes about how Scott could kiss it better. He wasn't groaning and telling Scott what stupid mistake gave him a head injury. Stiles was unconscious, and when Scott touched him, Stiles' mind didn't touch back.

But the autosuture worked, and Stiles only bled a little bit before the whole thing had healed up his skin. That blood turned black, too.

Scott rubbed the new pink gash on Stiles' head.

Kira stood up. "I'm going to go tell everybody that we're leaving him here and there's a medical watch over him for the next 12 hours."

"What if the engineers need the space?" Boyd asked.

"Then they can wait," Kira answered with a shrug.

"Boyd, go take a nap so you can do medical watch later. We'll do four-hour shifts each."

"Sounds good,” Boyd said. “If Stiles wakes up, tell him he’s the most annoying patient we’ve had all week.”

“All of our appointments this week have been routine,” Kira told him. “Stiles gave us a little excitement. He’ll be okay. I mean, at worst, he has a concussion." She smiled. “I’ll make sure the ship saves dinner for you guys. When Stiles wakes up, he’ll want to move. I don’t care who he wakes up with, _do not_ let him move.”

Boyd rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ve never dealt with a concussion patient before. Also this is definitely not Stiles’ tenth concussion on this mission alone, not to mention the five he got while I was interning at the Academy.”

“Except Scott will probably want to make out with him, and he’ll just annoy you until you let him head to the ship,” Kira said accusingly. She turned to Scott. “No making out. And definitely no sex. We are guests here. I have no idea if that’s frowned upon. There might be a law against public sex.”

“I don’t think so, that’s one of the things Stiles looks for when we go to a new planet,” Scott told her.

“I am so telling Malia. She’ll get a kick out of that.”

"Whatever," Boyd said. "I'm going to fill Erica in on the details since she’s the second-highest ranking engineer. She’ll be able to get the engineering side of things done before Stiles wakes up, and after the 12-hour watch we can move him back to the ship and leave.”

“Should we get a brain scanner down here?” Kira asked.

“If you wanna carry that thing down here, be my guest,” Boyd said, “but I’m not helping.”

“Scott?”

“Uh, I’m on med-watch.”

“What a nice excuse.” Kira shook her head. “Fine, we’ll just assume he has a concussion and blah blah blah. That’s four hours of sleep I won’t get back.”

“Yeah, but you’re still gonna bring me dinner at the end of my shift, aren’t you?” Scott asked.

“Only if you use your manners,” she said nicely.

She left. Boyd waved and followed her.

"Well, Stiles, it's just you, me, and this digital projector copy of Young Avengers vol. 2 that Kira lent me. It's about a bunch of teenagers saving the day. Kinda cool." He left his hand on Stiles' wrist, waiting for his mind to reach for him. The constant pulse, at least, was reassuring. He couldn’t feel dreams and had no real way to tell the difference between sleep and unconsciousness. All he could do was wait and continue to jump at every twitch in Stiles’ heartbeat.

Stiles didn’t wake up while Scott was on duty. Honestly, he hadn’t expected him to. Mentally, he wasn’t worried. Emotionally, he was drained. Forget dinner, he just wanted to sleep. But if he didn’t eat, he knew he would wake up with the World’s Worst Headache. He had a little stash of rations from the kitchens. Better than replicator food, even if it was a little squished.

The morning wasn’t that much better. He felt like his hygiene routine was taking away from time he was supposed to be with Stiles. That didn’t stop him from brushing his teeth, though.

Stiles and Boyd were playing cards.

“You guys could have gone up to the sick bay for tests half an hour ago,” Scott told them.

“Yeah, but we want to finish our game of Uno,” Stiles explained.

Stiles almost killed himself laughing. “I’m going to tell Erica to get the reports to you on the engineering mission. Then we’re going to gossip about our ridiculous boyfriends. Then I’m going to finish all the routine med stuff and hopefully get my reports done before we leave.”

“Where are we going next?” Boyd asked.

“Captain Argent says Metrion.”

“Oh my god, they have great spas,” Stiles said. “They have over a thousand ecosystems that are all descended from Terran extremophiles. You have to let me take samples and send them to my cousin T’chai. He’s working on Earth evolutionary studies at the Vulcan Science Academy.”

“No interesting engineering?” Boyd asked.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s pretty Earth-basic on Metrion.”

“Really?” Scott asked. “Because Allison says we’re going to restock at a Klingon conclave on an island  over 1,000 kilometers away from mainland.”

“That might be interesting,” Stiles said, “but not as interesting as spas. Come on. Spas!”

“I’ll see you in the sick bay,” Scott told them.

“They are such nerds,” Erica said.

“The biggest,” Scott agreed.

“I can’t believe I married him.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I had kids with him! _Uno_. Dear lord…”

“You’re not in disbelief. You have the husband, the 2.5 kids, the unicorn space dog. The only thing missing is the white picket fence.”

“No way. Space ships forever,” Erica assured him. “We might get a cat, but Danny said there might be something in unicorn space dog blood that could be harmful to cats if they start fighting. Not to mention that fighting is the purpose of a unicorn space dog’s horn in the first place. I just figured we should go all out since the kids are finally big enough to handle pets. There’s not a lot of pets you can have when you work for the Federation.”

“Get rats. They’re like tiny dogs. You can teach them tricks and they love to give kisses. It’s great; Kiley and Benton will love them. You just have to get more than one. And honestly, they don’t live very long, just two or three years. Then they get cancer.”

“That might be too short of a lifespan,” Erica said thoughtfully. “Did you ever have rats?”

“When I was in the Academy. I decided not to get more after they died senior year. I didn’t want to have to acclimatize them to space life again. And new ones always pee and poop a bit ‘cause they’re scared.”

“What about Betazoid pets?”

“Almost none of them are space regulation. No fish, remember? Betazoids have a lot of aquatic pets. A lot of us bring our childhood pets with us to the Academy, but it’s looked down upon to bring non-regulation pets to school. They want you to get used to regulation rules.”

“What about Vulcan pets?” Erica was smirking.

“What, those giant guard bears? How would you even fit one in your room? I mean, that’s great if we’re invaded or something, but we mostly hang out in charted territories checking on research and colonists. I don’t think you need a sabertooth bear.”

“Vernon would love one. He never has enough people to cuddle.”

“Think you’re gonna have another kid?” Scott asked.

“No way. You’re a great high-risk obstetrician and Kira is an amazing neurologist, but monitoring my hormones was awful, and on top of that the C-sections really take it out of me.” Erica shrugged. “We might want another one in the future, and I know it’s really dangerous to have more than 3 C-sections, so let’s save my last one for a rainy day.”

“I think I have kids on the brain right now. Allison and Lydia are discussing it, and they’re going through the Klingon or Human donor question.”

“Why don’t they find another Klingon-Human hybrid?” Erica asked.

“I don’t think it’s occurred to them,” Scott explained, “because the thing they’re really discussing is the cultural influences they’re going to raise their children with.”

“What? Lydia loves Klingon culture,” Erica said. “She literally took Allison to a Klingon performance of Shakespeare for their first date. She speaks 2 dialects.”

“Yeah, but Allison is worried because of something her aunt did. It was a war crime, a violation of Klingon custom and law. In Klingon culture, dishonor is passed on through the family, and I think Allison wants to restore her family’s honor before having kids – or at least Klingon kids.”

Erica was silent for a few seconds. “That’s deep. Should you really be telling me this?”

“I am honestly surprised that Allison hasn’t told you already; you guys go for drinks every Thursday.” Scott fidgeted. “Yeah, I should go tell her. And apologize.”

Scott was halfway to the bridge when his pocket vibrated.

**Stiles’ scan is coming up with a contaminate. No brain damage.**

**Is the contaminate corrosive? Scott asked.**

**Might be causing DNA damage. Unsure for now.**

**Be there soon.**

 

“So basically,” Boyd started, “we should not have used hydrogen peroxide on a Vulcan, and should never do so again. It combines with the copper in the blood to create DNA damage.”

“A lot?”

“Just a little, mostly skin. The best thing is to remove the damaged tissue and regenerate it, which means two days in here.”

Stiles sat up. “What, just remove the tissue? As in, cut the skin off of my head? No. No way.”

“It’s not even enough to need anaesthetic, Stiles,” Scott assured him. “I mean, we can give you some, because the view’s going to be weird, and head wounds tend to bleed a lot.”

“Oh, oh Surek no. I can’t do that. At least not awake. Put me out if you’re gonna do that.”

Scott reached out, and Stiles grabbed his hand.

 _Don’t worry about it_ , he told Stiles. _You’ll be okay. In two months, you won’t even have a scar._

Panic – Stiles’ fear of scalpels and needles and blood in general – pushed into Scott, and Scott pushed back with his assurances and calm.

“Scott, you are – you are literally the only person I would trust with this okay.”

“Well, I hope you never need surgery, because that’s a bit more complicated.”

“Boyd, tell Doctor McCall to stop laughing at his patients.”

“Oh, I don’t involve myself in couple-fights.”

“Quick,” Scott said, “stab him with a hypo.”

“This is the worst threesome I’ve ever been in,” Stiles said before he went under.

“Boyd?” Scott asked. “Do you mind taking this one? I kinda just want to hold his hand.”

Boyd smiled. “Don’t worry, McCall. He’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

 

 


End file.
